by Shay Savage
I hear the water running in the bathroom and realize that Falk must be taking a shower. I remember how it felt to have him hold me, and I’m more than a little embarrassed by my reaction to the circumstances I have found myself in.
Then again, I don’t suppose there is a handbook to follow when the city has been flattened and virtually everyone has been killed.
I shiver as I untangle myself from the blankets and drop my feet to the floor. I’m wearing the underwear Falk bought in the hotel shop along with the thin, white T-shirt supplied by the airline. I change into the Atlanta-themed sweatshirt and pull my skirt back on.
I’m going to need more clothes.
Staring out the window, I notice there are no bodies in the little green area behind Falk’s apartment, and I wonder if we should go door-to-door to see if there is anyone around. The water shuts off in the bathroom, and I turn away from the view out the window.
I open the door from the bedroom into the living room just as Falk steps out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel.
My eyes probably bulge out of my head. I knew he didn’t quite fit into that suit jacket, but seeing him like this—mostly naked with water still dripping from his hair, over his shoulders, and making a trail right past one of his nipples—I can see exactly why. The guy is built. Seriously, majorly built. Not in an over-the-top-I-never-leave-the-gym kind of way, but with a chiseled and sculpted sort of look.
He’s absolute perfection from his surprised and intense eyes to the plain, white towel wrapped around his waist.
“Oh, shit!” Falk takes a step back, tightening his grip on the towel. “I thought you were still asleep.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, tearing my eyes away from his glistening chest and abs. “I didn’t mean to…”
…to stare…to ogle...to practically drool on you.
“Sorry,” I say again as I make my way over to the couch and sit down with my hands over my face. He ducks into the bedroom and closes the door quickly while I try to compose myself.
I can hear him rummaging around in the closet. I don’t want to think about how he’s probably standing there, sans towel, as he picks out something to wear for the day. I try not to wonder what the rest of him looks like as my heart beats quickly in my chest.
I must be losing my mind.
Since the day I was abducted, I haven’t had a single sexual thought. I haven’t fantasized about my favorite actors, watched a romantic comedy, or read an erotic book. I haven’t even masturbated. Men have been the farthest thing from my mind.
It’s just the situation.
Everything around me is in chaos, and he’s here, trying to keep me calm and safe. He let me break down, but he’s remained levelheaded. He’s comforted me. It’s natural to feel some kind of attraction. It doesn’t mean anything.
Closing my eyes, I lean back on the couch and try to clear my mind. Right now, I should be in front of a slew of government officials, giving my testimony for the fifteenth time. I should be pointing to the documented data where I first found the discrepancies, how I traced those through the computer system and found a holding company with a name that wasn’t on the books. I’d be explaining how I’d enlisted Daniel’s help in researching the holding company and describing the websites he’d found with pictures and video of underage girls.
“How do you know that Mr. Hudson was involved?”
“He was one of the men who assaulted me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“You never saw him though?”
“I heard his voice.”
“But you never actually saw Mr. Hudson, did you, Ms. Savinski?”
“No, sir, but it is his DNA they found on me.”
“Hannah?”
I flinch and open my eyes. It takes me a moment to respond.
“Yes?”
“I think I have some clothes that will fit you if you want them.”
I head back into the bedroom slowly, limping. Falk is dressed in blue jeans and a dull green T-shirt. It’s a stark contrast to the suit he’s been wearing. There’s one handgun in a holster at his hip and another in a holster around his shoulder.
“My sister left some of her laundry in my dryer the last time she visited,” he says as he holds up a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He points to a laundry bag on the bed. “There are jeans and a couple other shirts in there as well. They might be a little big on you, but they’re better than nothing.”
“Definitely better than nothing,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to gather a few things up and load them into the car,” Falk says. “I think the first thing we need to do is look for other survivors. There has to be someone else around. We can also go back to the airport to see if we can locate our luggage as well.”
“What are you going to put in the car?”
“Food and water,” he says. He takes a packet of what appears to be some kind of ready-to-eat meal and stacks it with a few others on the floor. “Also some ammo and a couple of the rifles.”
My skin tingles.
“Is that going to be necessary?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, “but I’m going to have it with me in case it is.”
“How did you know to do all this?” I wave my hand in the direction of the footlockers lining Falk’s bedroom. “I mean, why did you collect all of this?”
“In case of a zombie apocalypse.” Falk gives me a wry smile, and I just stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He stops. “I just like to be prepared for anything. It could be a storm that takes out the electricity for days, the country getting attacked, or some natural disaster. It’s good to have certain things on hand. Honestly, I never expected to need any of it.”
“You have a big collection of guns.”
“It’s not a collection.”
I look to the lineup of rifles on the closet wall and raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it is.”
“It isn’t. It’s just enough.”
“If I could get to the internet right now, I’d be looking up the definition of the word collection just to prove my point.”
He eyes me for a minute.
“Do you know how to use one?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never even held one.”
“I can teach you.”
I look at him sideways, trying to decide if he’s being serious or not. There’s nothing in his expression to indicate that he’s joking.
“Do you think that’s necessary?”
“Don’t you?”
He is serious. I can’t imagine myself holding a gun, let alone firing it. The idea of aiming at some living thing and firing a gun is completely incomprehensible.
“I really don’t think I could do that.”
Falk takes one of the handguns out of its holster, holds it pointed toward the ceiling, and pulls the clip out of the handle. He pulls back on the top of it, dropping a bullet into his palm, and then looks inside the chamber before holding the weapon out to me.
I take the heavy, metal object in my hand, holding it loosely.
“Don’t put your finger on the trigger,” Falk says.
“I thought you unloaded it.”
“I did,” he says, “but only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to fire it.”
He shows me how to place my finger along the body of the gun, right above the trigger. I hold the weapon for a moment before handing it back.
“Not so bad, is it?” he says.
“It’s heavy,” I respond. “I still don’t think I could use one.”
“What if you had been armed when those men came for you?” Falk asks quietly. “What if you had been able to protect yourself?”
“I don’t know…” My voice cracks. I can’t think about this. I won’t. I do anyway. “Maybe they would have killed me.”
“They were going to kill you when they were done regardless. If you had been armed,
maybe you would have gotten away sooner.”
My throat is burning. I can barely get the words out. He’s right about one thing—they were planning to kill me. I don’t have any doubt about that. Maybe if I had a gun with me, things could have been different. Maybe if Daniel had one, he would still be alive.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” I turn away from him and stare at one of the footlockers, wondering if it’s the one full of ammunition for all those guns.
“I’m going to teach you to use one.”
“Fine.” I can’t argue with him about it. Arguing means thinking and remembering, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. “Are we still going to go to Washington?”
“Once I get a better idea of what’s happened around here, then yes. I think that’s our best course of action. D.C. has a lot of shelters in place. There are bound to be more survivors there.”
“How will we get there?”
“By car,” he says simply. “We’ll see what we can figure out locally, collect what we’ll need for a few days, get in my car, and I’ll drive you there.”
“What about gas? The pumps aren’t going to work without electricity.”
“I can siphon gas from other cars,” he says. “Newer models are a little tricky, but there are plenty of older ones around. Don’t worry about things like that. I got it.”
I nod, accepting what he says as truth.
“Shall I make breakfast?”
“Sure,” Falk says. “The eggs in the fridge should be fine, and there’s bacon in the freezer that needs to be cooked and eaten, too. Feel free to cook anything and everything that might go bad.”
“I’ll pack up some things for later, too.”
“Perfect.”
An hour later, I’ve cooked nearly everything from the refrigerator and half the things from the freezer and packed them into a cooler. Falk didn’t have a lot of fresh food on hand, but it’s enough for a couple of days, and the idea of his freeze-dried meals isn’t all that appealing to me. I’ve also brewed some iced tea and poured it into thermoses.
As we make the final trip to the parking lot and Falk’s Subaru Forrester, I wonder how long it will take to get to Washington. It would be a long drive under normal circumstances, but if we have to find cars to siphon gas, it’s going to take a lot longer. What if we run out of gas altogether? Would we end up stuck somewhere? Or would Falk want to walk to Washington?
Falk climbs in and turns the key, but there is only a churning sound from the engine.
“What the fuck,” he mutters as he tries again with the same result. He gets out of the car, pops the hood, and pokes around.
“Is it the battery?” I ask as I open the door and peer around the hood.
“It sounds like it.” His eyes are narrowed as he looks around the parking lot. “I’ll have to try one of the others.”
Two hours later, I’m still sitting in the passenger seat while Falk tries to get yet another car started. He’d already tried hotwiring a couple of them without success, and then he’d broken into his neighbor’s apartments looking for keys. None of the cars had worked.
Falk climbs out of a Honda, slams his fist on the top of it, and then stalks back over to me.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“No fucking idea.” Falk takes a deep breath and stares off toward the road. “Give me some time to think.”
He leans against the car and rubs his fingers into his eyes. After a minute, he ducks into the car, reaches around me to the glove compartment, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He goes back to leaning on the car as he lights up and takes a long drag.
He’s silent, and I don’t want to interrupt his thinking as he smokes. I try to come up with ideas of my own, but the throbbing in my leg is distracting, and I really don’t have a clue what we should do. The silence in the parking lot is unnerving. There should be people walking around, kids playing at the pool, dogs barking.
“Falk?”
“Yeah?”
“Does your apartment complex allow pets?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, where are they?”
He glances around the area, cocks his head for a moment, and then looks back at me.
“I have no idea.”
I rub my hands up and down my arms as a chill runs through me. No women, children, or dogs. What about cats or other pets? I could hear the faint chirping of birds in the trees and the constant buzzing of insects, so there were some animals around. Why not dogs?
“There’s a shopping center less than a mile from here,” Falk says as he tosses the cigarette butt away. “Let me check on your leg—do you think you can walk that far? Then we can go stock up and see if we can find anyone.”
“I think I can,” I say. “How will we bring stuff back?”
“We’ll have to just bring what we can carry for now,” he says. “There are bound to be shopping carts or something we can use. I’ll figure out a better way later.”
Falk and I go back inside where he unwraps the bandage from my leg, cleans the wound again, and bandages it back up. It’s painful but not unbearable, so I decide I can make the trip. Despite Falk’s rather foul mood, I don’t like the idea of being left alone in his apartment.
We head off down the street with one of Falk’s rifles strapped over his shoulder. He keeps a slow pace so I can keep up as we make our way to the shopping center.
There is no sign of another living being, not even when we get to the main road. It’s slow going with my limping, and we have to dodge a lot of cars that have smashed into utility poles or are just parked up on the sidewalk, and there are bodies of men everywhere. I keep my eyes on the ground as we pass the cars. I don’t want to see the passengers inside—or worse yet—no one inside.
Falk takes the side streets, looking for signs of life. There are none. Every time we pass another neighborhood, I keep thinking we’ll see someone this time, but we don’t. We only see more bodies—all men.
The empty cars in the street bother me the most. I can’t help but wonder who was in them. I also can’t stop myself from checking the back seats for child restraints. Every time I see one, I shudder.
Still no signs of women or children.
Falk leads me to a strip mall parking lot. One half of the mall is completely destroyed, right down to the ground. The only stores standing are a nail salon and a sandwich shop, and the windows are broken out of both of them. The bodies of two men hang out of the smashed building, their blank eyes staring at the sky.
“What’s going to happen to them all?” I ask.
“Cleaning up would be a big job,” Falk says. “In a couple of days, it’s going to be a lot worse.”
“Did you have to go there?”
“It’s true.” He shrugs as he climbs through the broken window of the sandwich shop, carefully avoiding the bodies. “Hopefully, someone will start organizing—putting things back together.”
“We haven’t seen anyone at all.” I follow him inside but don’t get past the entrance. There’s nothing but rubble inside.
“Maybe they’re in hiding.” He doesn’t sound convinced or convincing as he maneuvers around debris trying to get back behind the counter. Everything inside is smashed and useless, so we go back outside.
“Maybe we’re the only survivors.” I can only whisper the words, barely able to comprehend the thought.
I look up at Falk as his face tightens and his lips smash together. He looks like he’s about so say something right before he focuses in the distance.
“We’re not,” Falk says. “Look.”
I follow his nod with my gaze and see three men in dirty jeans and flannel shirts appear from around the corner of the strip mall. One of them points to us, and they all start heading in our direction, waving. As they approach, I can see they’re all in their early thirties, and their clothing is filthy.
Falk stands up straight and touches the gun at his hip briefly before letting his hand fall back to his sid
e. He’s tense and alert, like he was when we first stepped out of the hotel.
“Don’t say anything.” Falk looks at me with those intense eyes as he speaks.
“Why not?”
“I’ll explain later.”
The three men stop as they get close to us, and Falk takes a step in front of me. I watch him closely as they interact.
“Hey there!” One of the men in the group moves ahead and addresses Falk. “What the fuck happened around here?”
“I was hoping you would know.” Falk takes a step forward and offers his hand. “Falk Eckhart. We haven’t seen anyone since it happened.”
“Beck,” the dark-haired man says. “Beck Majors.”
Beck is slightly taller than Falk with a more slender build. He’s got that rough-and-ready look I associate with old cigarette or whiskey commercials. He would have looked completely in place if he had ridden up on horseback. He points to the other two men as he introduces them.
“This is Caesar and Ryan Tucker.”
“My brother and I just came here for the weekend,” Caesar says. He’s a medium-sized, broad shouldered guy with a shaved head. “Beck had gone on about how we needed to visit, but I think we picked the wrong time.”
“Phones aren’t working at all,” Ryan says. He’s much smaller than his brother and obviously younger by several years, and they look nothing alike. He’s got a scruffy beard, round eyeglasses, and a beret on his head, giving him a hipster vibe. “I’ve got a short wave radio that isn’t picking up anything, either. I’m not so sure this is isolated to Atlanta.”
“Where were you when it happened?” Falk asks. “How did you keep from getting caught up in it?”
“We were exploring the storm drains near Decatur,” Beck says. He rubs at a smudge on his jeans, and I wonder just what they’ve been walking through. A distinctly unpleasant smell comes from the group. “Caesar and Ryan are big into spelunking, so I said they ought to see what the city has to offer. Felt the ground shaking, but we were pretty deep in, and it took a while to get out. Some of the exits were blocked by rubble from the street. When we got back to the surface…well, we saw all this.”